


Sanctuary

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fluff, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 11 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p>
<p>Thorin comforts his wife with a song after a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

_You were so high in the tree. Much too high. Smoke stung your eyes and rasped your throat as you looked down through the haze of sparks and ashes at the hellish scene of flames and howls and savage shouts far below. The beasts circled, their fangs snapping, their eyes glowing eerily in the darkness as the orcs gibbered and taunted. You could see no sign of your friends. You were alone, helpless. The tree shivered as the largest of the wargs threw itself angrily at the trunk, butting it with all of its strength, and tears streamed down your cheeks as you cried out in terror. You were pleading futilely, begging them to leave you alone, spare you – you may as well have craved mercy from the flames themselves – when you saw him. The pale orc._

_Azog the Defiler approached, and your blood seemed to turn to water in your veins. He growled loudly in his harsh, guttural language, words you couldn’t understand, but all the other orcs laughed cruelly and set up a cacophony of bellows and shrieks. They parted to make way for their looming, battle-scarred leader as he walked ever closer to your tree. An evil smile twisted his mouth, and he called out to you once more, this time holding something up for you to see. Your face crumpled in devastation as he lifted Thorin’s head like a trophy, roaring in triumph as his foot-soldiers clamored around him. An unearthly cry burst from you and echoed in your ears, your voice cracking with the force of it, and the branch to which you clung gave way, sending you tumbling, screaming, into the darkness._

You woke with a start, a strangled sob escaping your lips. Thorin, with a warrior’s instincts, was instantly awake, his hand on your shoulder. “Amrâlimê, what is wrong?” 

You looked at him with wild eyes, clutching his arm as though to steady yourself, taking in your surroundings. You were at home in your bedchamber in Erebor, and Thorin was alive and well beside you. Fear drained away, leaving exhaustion and shame in its wake. “I…it’s nothing.” You exhaled heavily. “It was just a dream. I’m sorry,” you mumbled, pushing your hair back from your face with trembling hands, “I’m sorry for waking you, it was only a bad dream…foolishness.” 

Wordlessly, Thorin gathered you into his arms, his hand guiding your head to rest upon his strong, solid chest. You held tightly to him as he rubbed your back with a slow, rhythmic motion, quietly humming snatches of a song. You kept your eyelids wide, fearful that sleep would claim you only to return you to the land of nightmares. 

“You are safe, amrâlimê,” Thorin murmured, as though reading your mind, “there is nothing to be afraid of.” 

Your clenched hands relaxed, and you dared to close your eyes, feeling the soft fabric of Thorin’s tunic against your cheek and the gentle vibration in his chest as he went back to humming. The song was sweet and mysterious and melancholy, and he began to softly sing words with the tune.

_The world was young, the mountains green,_  
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,  
No words were laid on stream or stone  
When Durin woke and walked alone.  
He named the nameless hills and dells;  
He drank from yet untasted wells;  
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,  
And saw a crown of stars appear,  
As gems upon a silver thread,  
Above the shadows of his head.

_The world was fair, the mountains tall,_  
In Elder Days before the fall  
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond  
And Gondolin, who now beyond  
The Western Seas have passed away:  
The world was fair in Durin’s Day.

_A king he was on carven throne_  
In many-pillared halls of stone  
With golden roof and silver floor,  
And runes of power upon the door.  
The light of sun and star and moon  
In shining lamps of crystal hewn  
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night  
There shone for ever fair and bright.

His deep voice trailed off, and you whispered drowsily, “that’s pretty.” 

Thorin smiled. “It is a very old song.” He turned onto his side, still holding you close, and kissed your forehead. “Rest well, my sweet,” he breathed. “You are safe in my arms.” 

You nuzzled your face into his neck, soothed by the scent of his skin, and had time only to murmur “thank you” before drifting off to sleep.


End file.
